


if you call i'll run

by agetwellcard



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Based on a song, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 11:06:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1776892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agetwellcard/pseuds/agetwellcard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>if you'd send for me/ you know I'll come/ and if you'd call for me/ you know I'll run</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you call i'll run

**Author's Note:**

> hey this is based off lana del rey's "old money" i'm sorry if this makes no sense

_where have you been_

_where did you go_

 

It’s all blurry. Brendon can remember the screams and the hot lights and the feeling of having everything and yet still missing things. It felt like dreams that never ended. His memory had too many gaps and too many revised events, the edits too obvious to miss.

Brendon thinks a lot on long days, after he’s done a show or when he’s spent the day writing, and there’s always those timid memories dancing through his mind. He used to try his best to block it out, would even get angry at himself for its insistent flashbacks.

It’s not like that anymore, though. Brendon sometimes likes it.

Some days, he’ll see photographs of Ryan, newer or older, and something will stir in his stomach because he remembers him being something so different than the one he always ends up seeing now. It wasn’t always beautiful when they were together, but they were _togethe_ r, and that was all Brendon ever needed.

He had chances to come back, Brendon had made sure he had, but it was never enough. Ryan doesn’t tell people when he leaves, and he doesn’t tell you where he’s going, or when he’s coming back. It’s always just an empty feeling in Brendon when he’s realized he’s lost him again. He’s always losing the brown eyed boy whose words never seemed to cure him.

 

_those summer nights_

_seem long ago_

 

Brendon remembers the sound of the opener band playing, their music just hums in the background of the mess that was the backstage. People were everywhere, talking about big dreams and handing around joints and smiling because they were so obviously where they wanted to be. Brendon felt like he was in the right place, too.

Ryan’s hands were gripping his waist without hesitancy (like usual) and Brendon’s weren’t either. They weren’t the party anymore, they were just the after party that no one showed up to, they were just the kids who were too loud and kicked out. They were everything to Brendon in that moment (and in so many more).

They slipped through the crowd so easily, everyone just going ignoring them. Ryan loved it. He always wanted to disappear, and Brendon always hoped that he was giving him that. He hoped that when Ryan and him slowed danced through the green room, shouting out the words to a song they weren’t sure if they even liked, that they went somewhere else for a while. A place where it was just them and it was all okay.

Having Ryan for those months killed Brendon. He remembers waking up on long afternoons with Ryan’s body right next to him. Brendon never tried to count his eyelashes or memorize the color of his eyes, but he never took it for granted. Not a second. His heart spent 24/7 beating against his rib cage, nearly breaking some bones.

Brendon wouldn’t trade those long nights for anything (handing a bottle of champagne back and forth between the two of them, drinking right from the bottle and staring off into the distant). He wouldn’t trade those moments for anything (finding poems wedged in his bunk full of declarations of a love that Ryan was so very scared of).

Now, though, those things are gone. They feel just in reach for Brendon on some nights, when he’s smoked too much or when the beer bottles have been in the air for a just a little too long, and it’s like he can just outstretch his arms and tug them in. He can smell Ryan’s expensive cologne and feel his head spin like it used to. Sure, the memories were outdated, dust nearly distorting the image, but they were still there. Most nights, he could visit them, too, like old movies he had forgotten about.

 

_we were young and pretty_

_the power of youth_

 

They were everything everyone wanted to be. They had the fame, and the money, and their dreams weren’t ever counterfeit (no matter how much they had thought they were on tough nights). They were so young, so blissfully ready to fuck up everything they ever wanted. They didn’t really mind, though (they always thought they could get it back).

When they had sex it was always slow or too fast because that was how Ryan liked it. Admittedly, Brendon never really minded. As long as he was there with Ryan’s hands running up and down his chest, he was happy, the thudding in his chest stronger than he could remember it ever being.

It was electrifying. They left their couture clothes in heaps on the floor, and stared at each other’s photo shoot ready faces as they touched. They had stopped having dreams after it all came true, but suddenly they were the dreams themselves, like they ate up all their power and became something more, something completely pristine.

And when they had sex, Brendon always said “I love you” before and after because it was the most honest thing he had ever felt come out of his mouth and roll off his tongue, and he loved the way Ryan would lean forward and kiss him instead of saying it back.

 

_if you'd send for me_

_you know I'll come_

_and if you'd call for me_

_you know I'll run_

Brendon wouldn’t deny it. He’s not sure if he really could, if he was asked by Ryan himself. It’s not like he can’t lie to interviewers or nosy fans or family members who pose as friends who are worried. He can lie, say it was all a joke, say that Ryan never really meant anything, say he was confused. It was easy for Brendon to lie after doing it for so long, his inside never translating to his outsides. He was an actor at heart just never meant for the big screen. If Ryan asked, though, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Not really.

It’s not just when a particular song starts to play, or when Brendon really starts to think, or when a person asks about the brown eyed boy who steals his dreams and sets them on fire. It’s never that. It’s always when Brendon is alone and things are silent or, even worse, when a door is slammed and someone yells and there’s always something shattering (the fucking glass _always_ cutting his bare feet the next morning). That’s when Brendon can admit he’d take Ryan back.

He’s gone through the circuit too many times to count, his heart always managing to pull itself back into place, the pieces just a little sharper and little smaller with every shatter. Brendon knows how it goes, and he’s not sure he would ever give it up. He maybe loves it on some days, the ones where he can count up all his issues and wallow in his self-pity because it’s easier.

Ryan was always his. People like them, they don’t leave each other. They can’t. Weeks, months, years, they’re always somehow together without meaning to be. Brendon can’t really ignore the pain because he can’t just look back every once in a while. It had to be every day, the clock just a reminder that things are getting further and further away.

 

_and if you call I'll run_

_if you change your mind I'll come_

 

It’s soft, the feelings that Brendon knows are always there. He’s soft. He knows, the way that he’s messed up (the way that _Ryan’s_ messed up, is _always_ messing up) is just temporary. He knows that they’ll be something again one day.

He knows they’ll be a day, when their paths will end up crossing, and then they’ll grow into one because that’s all that was ever meant for them. They’ll spend long afternoons being no one (no screams or lights or interviews). They’ll disappear every night because Brendon knows that Ryan still wants that, has always wanted that.

In the future, when they smile at each other from across the kitchen table (because it’s inevitable that’s where they end up), they’ll be together. Brendon knows, no matter how long Ryan stays away (how long _he_ stays away) he’ll always be one phone call away from things going to back to how they should be.

Their lives could become hot summer nights and morning light through the windows forever. They could be stuck in the loop of their happiness.

All Ryan has to do is just ask, and Brendon is his.

(always has been)


End file.
